The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’

A Dark Fairytale
As I was chained, I breathe in.
As I was burned, I breathe out.
As I was cut, I looked down.
As I was broken, I looked up.
As I was destroyed, I closed away.
I had killed myself damaging beyond any repair.
To keep myself closed I chain, cut, burned, and destroyed what was within me, isolation my fear around me. But suddenly as I had nearly been kindled to a shivering light, something braver and stronger then I appeared and took me and held me and once again I was fixed and this is what happened;
Suddenly I breathed in as I was unchained.
Suddenly I breathed out as my burns disappeared.
Suddenly I looked up as my broken body mended.
Suddenly I looked down as my cuts faded.
Suddenly I was opened up and my destruction was nothing more then a dream
As my knight, you entered that shadow and held me now I grow with a unprofaned radiance.
I was held once more, and my soul emerged.
I was spoken to once more, and my mind went blank.
I was kissed and my body reacted without a second hesitation.
And before I could run away once more, I was trapped.
Unlike my prison I lived in a fairytale, in were I don’t want to live this place anytime soon. What happened then and what happening now are so fair apart it hilarious.
I’ve forgiven the past, not forgotten it. Prove never to make the same mistakes or else be locked back inside that tower I call my mind.
Let me in brave knight, into your mysterious ways.
Let me in brave knight let me have secret passages into that world of yours.
Let me in brave knight so I can truly capture you.
I was as cold as ice even more then winters hail, but you with a ridged past that icier then I could have imagined is as warm as the summer sun and sweet like spring air.
For saving me, for taking my heart, for releasing me, I’ll become everything you want and then more, I’ll stand by your side and hold you like you held me and I shall be everything you need.
My sweet Knight.

Loves magic riddle, shepherds the flower,
blossoming elegance, land to sea.
I never knew, how that love grew,
until I laid eyes on Lucy Dee.
Blindly sifting through the hazy maze,
emerging aware, holding a key.
That fixed a hole, which filled my soul,
thanks to the love of Lucy Dee.
The force behind the forces of life,
made me question how to see,
Suddenly views, were less askew,
thanks to the insight of Lucy Dee.
Now I care not, for transparent fog,
or the rain that pours for weeks.
For the weather, never weathers,
the amorphous Lucy Dee.
When my petals finally wilt and wane,
storms bring me to weary knees.
The radiant shine, forever binds,
lucy’s light within me; and without,
by loves decree.

Unassuming simplicity
Child of the wild
A bit of color to catch the eyes
It’s too much to leave her behind
Sentimental blindness
Can only give bad guidance
Leave her; why break her?
Look only, but do not touch
You’ll soil your hands
Can never be friends
To embrace nature is not in your nature
Think you’ll just put her on your table?
You’ll be unable
A narrow vase by your hands made
Freedom cannot recreate
Take her home, and she’ll wither
But your guilt won’t die with her

The Black butterfly waves away her adorations
All she seeks is seclusion, subsuming slave to mortification
The Dear Air is all she can breath, captive of imaginary dreams
The Beacon resonates, but the hope isolates
The Wasteland's silky fingers caressing the virgin's face
So she is now, the covet of the damned
Programmed to every victim's pain
Carrying the weight of every sorrow
Drowning in wrongs she does not know
But paradise is at loss; she must go
Nature sighs after the bite
All my hopes fading
Don't look at me with those sorrowful eyes
How do you know exactly what I'm feeling?
I'm just the ghost flower passing by
And you can hear nature's sigh

In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so.
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction.
“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea.
I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want.
And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch.
But I would like to…
I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door.
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
finally
finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.

he watched her,
lying there in the grass, among flowers,
the cherry petals covering her slowly…
he suddenly realized
how sweet was the shadow
touching her
and each flower gently offering
its tribute of death to her
was no less beautiful
than that wonderful crimson bloom
he himself had helped birth
on her chest…
the nectar of that flower still on his hands
and the ethereality of the cherry-tree shade on his retina,
he wished to grow roots
and draw life from the very earth that she,
his masterpiece,
was slowly
beginning to become

If mine heart should speak, let it speak so well;
For I may not have another time to tell.
Let me say it straight; let me say it clear,
It may not be so loud but the deaf can hear.
It's for the sane to commend me of my views
And for the fools to take me as a foe;
For my word shall either be sweet or foul
But it bears the frankness of my soul.
The sheer desire for wealth or fame
I apt no more for all is vain.
It's good enough for me to see
That I've lived a life in each passing day.
When a man is young he's at his best
And a merry soul has no time to rest.
But life's like hanging on a ledge
The soul is weakened at the ripe old age.
No amount of sleep shall recompense or mend
Of a good dream lost to awakening;
So as a speeding star in a tranquil gaze
That fell so sudden before a wish.
The time that flies and makes one old
Burgeons the burdens of an old man's load.
It shall be heavier when he departs
If he'll bear the laments of a shattered heart.
Life is doomed and to cease one day;
Not a single soul can choose to stay.
Better pave a way for the saints to stroll
So that bad old serpent could tempt no more.
Then for my own sake I'll pray with them
That my soul be freed from the hell's domain.
And my heart won't dare to sing again
Those mournful lines of life's refrain.
A blissful sunset shall start to thrive
Nocturnal solace upon my head.
Then it shall be on the day I die
When flowers bloom and birds do fly.
Author: Jecon B. Nadela
Date & Time of Writing:
10 May 2014 ; 2:03pm - 3:21pm
Thanks God I'm writing again.

The flower blooming in the sky
Its the flower of hope
It carries raindrops and mildew of rhymes
In its ever broadening scope
The flower blooming in the sky
Its the flower of hope
It blooms into wonderful times
Just like a vision that a floats
The flower blooming in the sky
Its the flower of hope
It seldom withers into the night
But today is undoubtably mine!

The Sieve of Time
Cast ashore,
along the banks of time,
whirling through the passing years,
clinging to my futile scribbles set in rhyme,
Cast ashore,
thrust into an unrehearsed pantomime,
clenching slivers of joy as weariness descends,
lulled into a peaceful slumber exhilaratingly sublime.
Cast ashore,
hazily adrift, a dandelion seed on the wings of time,
trapped in the sieve of spiralling memories,
caught between pristine bliss, and reeking slime.
Cast ashore,
flung aside for no discernible crime,
my human heart thuds with elusive hope,
though battered, bruised, and covered in grime,
I stagger ashore,
alone,
embracing each moment of detached, oblivious time.

She
She smiled, gently,
her warmth infusing me,
with a serene stillness of time.
She settled, slowly,
in my waking thoughts,
a soothing balm of simple joy.
She remains, scribbled,
on the walls of my fractured heart,
memories of happiness that once breathed...

They bloom as buds,
The young and expectant
bursting with the life of spring.
Winter-bones, stiff with frost,
Unravel the icicle wire;
Release the spry exuberance of
Underground bulbs of self:
Heart, mind, chakra points--rise,
Rise to greet the thaw!

I use to be a flower
that sprouted from a seed
The soil as my mothers womb
through fertile flesh to feed
The bees are dear beloved
attracted by my scent
They carry strife but still remain
Resourceful and content
I've many brothers and sisters
that starve before the rain
Kidnapped and beaten by the heat
wishing death more than pain
I gave praise to the firmament
to open up the sea
The waters fell and gave the weak
the strength that of a tree
I use to be a flower
that sprouted from a seed
The soil as my mothers womb
through fertile flesh to feed
The children now are not content
a mandrake of a seed
That nature neglected as an
antagonistic weed
The soil as my mothers womb
through fertile flesh to bleed

streamlining trough the objections life presents
the flower had a leaf but it repents
sunshine through thou darkness while we blend
the mixer destroys the suspect
hopping hop-hop
raining down with tone
it struck his mind with bedazzlement of
and grabs him out of cinema life
swimming on the checkered floor
splash-splash lick the platoon
fingers rushing through the unknown matrix of men
life by machine while the bird songs bend
ghost grass fling for the sarcastic wind
mumbling back pain eyesight on the swing
his name is clustered from surreal things
mind the oblivion of fascination the holocaust of nature
fly-fly cause what happened left
humbleness has reached a point of gloom halo
why not this parking lot?
broom-broom as she swings wildly into the horizontal
distortion of imagination, jack-in-the-box had some luck
feet spindle until air hides
we are to ask the narrator
no comment from the flower gallery
magnetic shadow finds no pole
drunken trolley is the only one to catch the sun
stitch the camouflage great oceans of the world
a neutral switch no coding attached
crook robbing the forest from its daily affairs
moonlight blues for the wolf of man
revolting against integrated logic
they all shake heads as he drives down somewhere
grudging through the city y-tic
tic-tic-tic we turn left from right
the bass coughed man has a trailer to his mind
absolutely nothing harass the plane with a face underneath
this is universal undercoat

I COULDN'T SLEEP LAST NIGHT .
I HAD LOT OF THINGS ON MY
MIND....MY SUB-CONSCIENCE
CONTINUES TO ASK WHY? I
PRAYED TO RELEASE THE STRESS
OFF MY CHEST ; BUT THE PRO-
BLEMS IN MY HEAD CONTINUE
TO STAY REFUSING TO GO
AWAY.
I ROAMED AROUND THE HOUSE A
TIME OR TWO.TRYING TO SHAKE
THE BLUES. I BEGAN TO SEARCH
MY SOUL TO SEE IF THERE WAS
AN UN-INVITED GUESS ON BOARD.
CAUSING MY SPIRIT MAN TO BE
IN DISTRESS.
OF COURSE IT WAS PLAN TO SEE
THAT HE WAS THE PROBLEM. KEEP-
ING ME UP IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR.
NO LONGER WILL HE HAVE THE POWER
TO DEVOUR MY TIME,EFFORTS, AND
ERENGY....
THIS BEAUTIFUL FLOWER MUST BE
UP ROOTED FROM MY SOIL.SO IT
WILL NOT SPOIL THE ROOTS THAT
HAVE GROUNDED ME.
A BEAUTIFUL YOU WILL ALWAYS
BE BUT A FLOWER THAT CAN NOT
GROW IN MY POT. FADE AWAY TO
SOMEONES ELSE'S SOIL........
HE WILL NOT SPOIL MY
........POTTED SOIL.......

The flower of the soil, not curse but I
am same, not cutting ~ beings lie
The flower of my eye, seems only thy
contention only seeding in reply!
What grows in longing symbolizes try,
befit with wronging, nurtures less imply.
Some grace befits an answer, asking why
love seeds it's error firstly, but to die!
As all man contemplative risk deny
am I thus overstated, nay, but nay!
This truth congratulaltive feels no wry
the heart left but to ponder, finds it's sky ~
still deep inside its hurting . . . frees its cry!

I sit in the darkness, Alone and Afraid,
Waiting for my Lord.
All around me fires rage,
The earth shakes at it’s core,
Brother fighting brother...
Are these the signs spoken of so long ago?
Is this the end of hope? Or the beginning!
I sit in the darkness, but see one lonely flower.
Dew dropping from its petal,
As if a tear is shed for what man is doing.
One lonely flower shining in the starlight,
Just before the dawn of a new day.
In that small flower I see hope.
The Lord weeps, but I am not alone.